


L'Homme Blair

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, First Times, M/M, crossovers, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair discovers that love can survive, even in the most unexpected place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'Homme Blair

## L'Homme Blair

by Silk

Author's website:  <http://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/>

All things Sentinel belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. All things LFN belong to Warner Bros and Fireworks. All of whom are not me. This work is not for profit.   


My thanks to Patt and Lisa, without whom we would be writing with pencil and paper where no one could see us, and the rest of the wonderful MME crew, who make being here so much fun. As always, this is for Tinn, who is a super beta, a terrific Muse, a fantastic writer in her own right, but an even better friend

This story originally appeared in The Many Movies of The Sentinel, a My Mongoose ezine. It's both AU and a crossover with La Femme Nikita. Spoilers for the pilot episode of LFN, "Nikita", and the movie, La Femme Nikita, as well as the movie, Point of No Return.   


* * *

L'Homme Blair 

by Silk 

"I was taken to a place called Section One, the most covert anti-terrorist organization on the planet. Their ends are just...but their means are ruthless. If I don't play by their rules...I die." 

I started keeping a journal when I was ten. But up till now, the most interesting thing in it was how I broke my arm falling out of Mrs. Penshaw's oak tree. I bet you think that paragraph sounds melodramatic. Well, you're wrong. 

It happened to me. 

* * *

My mother Naomi was a free spirit. Which is to say, she left me to fend for myself at 16. I had no choice but to take to the streets. My instinct for self-preservation has always been strong. 

I worked as a rent boy, sleeping by day, turning tricks by night. I was pretty enough that I could pick and choose who I went with, something almost unheard of in my line. I liked keeping things casual. No pimp. No drugs. No cutting anyone else in for a share of the take. 

I didn't like being hurt, but sometimes, well, sometimes it came with the territory. There are a thousand stories out there in the naked city, and most of them are grim. 

I was one of the lucky ones, though. I managed to survive on my own for almost five years. I had run-ins with the law, but I wasn't really a bad kid. In fact, I guess you could say that I was innocent. 

I _was_ innocent. 

Right up until I was framed for murder. 

* * *

I was shooting the breeze with Joey Pizza and Marco Sombrero. We were standing on my favorite corner. I was wearing my suede jacket, the one with the fringe on it, and for once, my boots matched. It was cold out. Cold enough that you could see your breath. Hence, the jacket. 

I'm hard to mistake for anyone else. I've got long, curly hair the color of chestnuts and dark blue eyes. A little on the short side? Maybe. But I make up for it in the sack. Know what I mean? 

With looks like that, you'd think that I was a bottom boy. But no. I was constantly amazed by the number of big, buff types who begged me to top. 

I love to fuck. Like I said, I was one of the lucky ones. 

We were due for some bad weather. I was looking forward to spending some quality time inside. I decided to splurge on a cup of hot tea with honey. Something I remembered from when Naomi was still around, no doubt. 

But there was no one in the coffee shop. The lights were on, but there was no sign of the customers or the old guy who ran the joint. I crept through the place, calling out, "Hello?" in a voice that didn't even sound like mine. No answer. 

So I pushed open the back door and stepped into the alleyway. That's when I saw him. The dead guy. 

Nobody looks good dead and this guy was certainly no exception. There was a lot of blood, but I pondered whether or not he might still be alive. I bent over him, checking for a pulse. I swear I wasn't searching for his wallet. 

I found a ten-dollar bill anyway. I made the mistake of touching him, then picking up the money, which left a huge smudged fingerprint on it. I backed away from the body. Maybe I even screamed like a girl. 

That was the weird part. No sooner did I open my mouth than a police car showed up, siren wailing. Two cops leaped out of the car and drew their weapons. "Freeze! You're under arrest!" 

I was innocent, all right. I protested all the way to jail, through the arraignment, and the trial that followed. 

They laughed and sent me to prison. I was sentenced to life. 

That's when I knew that I was going to _die_ in prison. Whether I liked it or not. 

* * *

Then I woke up. 

I wasn't in prison anymore, but I might as well have been. I sulked like a child and nursed my emotional wounds, but the powers that be were evidently laughing their asses off. 

The embodiment of every fantasy I had ever entertained loomed over me. He was taller than me by several inches. His body was lean, but well-muscled. Like a big jungle cat, he had a sinewy grace all his own, but I never once doubted that there was _real_ power behind all that economy of movement. I let my eyes travel slowly up the length of his body to his face. 

His face was impassive. It gave nothing away. His eyes were a glacial shade of blue, his lips tightly drawn as if every word that came out of his mouth would be measured and found wanting. His hair was dark brown, but he wore it short, cropped close to his head. That would normally turn me off. But I had a sudden urge to touch it that would be dangerous to indulge. 

"Where am I?" 

"Where do you think you are?" 

"I don't know, man. That's why I asked." 

He raised one eyebrow and stared at me until I could feel sweat trickling down my back. 

He produced a grainy black and white photograph and held it out for me to examine. There was a small white tombstone in the foreground, but nothing else. 

"What's this?" 

"You died in prison. Suicide. This is your funeral." 

"No one came?" I had no idea why that bothered me. But it did. God knew Naomi hadn't been a mother to me for years, but still.... 

"Here is where you'll train." 

"To do what?" I had already guessed that this was some kind of secret government facility. But what kind of organization recruited from prison? And buried the former lives of those incarcerated within? 

He cupped my chin and pulled my face up until the tendons in my neck stood out in painful relief. "An assassin with your looks?" 

I wasn't surprised that my only value lay in my body. It was key to my survival so far. But an assassin? 

For a moment, I thought that he was going to kiss me. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, so hard that I couldn't understand why _he_ couldn't feel it, too. "But I'm not a killer. I didn't kill anyone. " 

He pushed me away with that hand, his grip so punishing, I was sure that I would have bruises all along my jawline. "The moment I believe that...is the moment you'll be cancelled." 

He turned his back on me and headed for the door that led out of this stifling, sterile little white room. I didn't think, I just reacted emotionally. I lunged at him, but before I knew it, I was flat on my back. He straddled my chest and grabbed my wrists, holding them high over my head. I struggled, but I couldn't get loose. 

He bent his head, his lips mere inches away from mine. "When you attack from behind, go for the kidneys. It's painful and it disables your opponent quickly." 

He stood up slowly, almost as if he were reluctant to leave me. But his eyes mesmerized me. That hypnotic, feral glare challenged me...and excited me. I was hard where his body had connected with mine. And that scared me to death. 

"Someone will come for you at 0500 tomorrow," he said quietly. "That's when you'll begin." 

I couldn't resist one last taunt, hiding my arousal beneath layers of contempt and rebellion. "And if I don't _want_ to?" 

His eyes flickered back and forth restlessly for a moment before freezing on my face again. "Row 8, Plot 30." 

* * *

His name was James. Working with him was like working with the Devil. You never really knew what he was thinking. But you were always sure that he knew more than he was telling you and that _not_ knowing that was bound to get you killed...eventually. 

His job was to make me into a cold, efficient soldier like him. The irony was that he could only do that by seducing me, by teasing me into thinking that he _cared_ , by giving me someone to please. Him. 

I wished that I could hold onto my rebellious spirit, but my desire to _be_ what James wanted me to be made that impossible. I could have refused outright. That was always an option. 

But it was an option that led straight to Containment. That was where operatives were terminated. If they were lucky. 

If they weren't lucky, they were put into Abeyance without their knowledge and sent out on suicide missions. 

I contemplated refusal. But James made me want more and I couldn't give up. 

* * *

The head of Section and his second-in-command held lots of clandestine meetings with James. About me. 

I didn't worry about it until James came back from one of those meetings with something that looked like genuine emotion in his eyes. 

"You've been training for almost a year now, Blair." 

I nodded. My body was firmer than ever. I could handle virtually any weapon, but the weapon I had honed to perfection stood right in front of him. 

"You've been working hard," he said in that husky voice that never rose above a whisper. 

"Yes." 

"How would you like to go out?" 

"Out? As in outside?" 

He nodded solemnly. "I think you...deserve a reward." 

"Are you coming, too?" I couldn't help but ask eagerly. 

"Oh, yes, I'll be coming," he replied, his light blue eyes meeting mine with undisguised ardor. 

That snapped my spine right to attention. Along with a few other parts of me that yearned to respond to the invitation in that sensual voice. 

* * *

I was taken to Madeline. She was not the head of Section, but as executive strategist, she wielded a great deal of power. A fully-trained psychologist, she employed all of the tools of that trade skillfully, some in ways I never could have imagined. 

Translation: This was a very scary lady. 

"It's important that you look your best, Blair." 

I ducked my head appreciatively, not certain what type of response I was supposed to make to that. 

"James is very fond of you, you know." 

That surprised me. I didn't dare hope that James even _thought_ about me, much less _cared_ for me. Not the way I...I swallowed hard to regain control of my runaway emotions. In all my years on the streets, I had fucked and sucked with the best of them, but I had never fallen in love. 

Shit, I sure could pick my moments. 

The impact of that revelation rocked my soul. I prayed to God and anyone else up there who would listen that my feelings stayed _off_ my face. If Madeline had any idea that I _loved_ James, she would make my life a living Hell. 

Like it wasn't already. 

"He's taking me out," I offered. 

"Yes, I know. You've done well so far, Blair." She smiled and her dark brown eyes gleamed. "That's why I wanted to have this little talk with you." 

She steepled her fingers and stared at her hands, seemingly deep in thought. When she spoke again, the force of her voice startled me. "James is one of our best operatives." 

"We couldn't withstand the loss of someone with his particular capabilities. Do you understand?" 

I shook my head. "No." 

"His...survival...within the organization is...tied to yours." 

I blinked. How so? 

"If you fail, he fails," she said. Now _that_ I understood. 

"I see." 

"Do you? James is responsible for you." She moved in on me and I automatically backed up. Some men would find her beautiful. She was an attractive woman. But all I knew was that she reminded me of a spider, a deadly black widow spider, carefully spinning her web of manipulations and lies until the truth, if there ever was one, was completely obscured. 

"I don't want to lose him." 

A silky voice behind her scoffed, "Oh, come now, Madeline, you never had him." 

"You don't know that, Paul," she said without turning away from me. 

"Stop it. You're scaring the boy." The head of Section smiled kindly, and if it was a smile that never really reached his pale blue eyes, I tried not to notice. 

"James said that you should dress up, Blair. I get the feeling that this could be a very big deal for both of you," he insinuated. 

My heart raced anxiously. Why did they care what I wore? Was this a date? Or a...series of reinforcements calculated to keep me off-balance? 

"I think this one, Madeline," he said, indicating a black suit with velvet-trimmed lapels. "What do you think?" 

"As you wish, Paul," she intoned, bowing her head deferentially. But she never took her eyes off him. There wasn't a deferential bone in her body. 

* * *

I felt like Cinderella going to the ball. Prince Charming was waiting for me. With a limo. 

Jesus, I had never been on a real date before. 

"You look...nice." James' softspoken compliment meant a lot. He never praised _anyone_. Maybe it just wasn't in his nature. Or maybe Section had changed him in ways I couldn't imagine. 

"Thanks." 

I sat next to him in the limo, like a virgin hanging on to her virtue. My knees were pressed together tightly and my entire body was tense. Just in case he touched me. 

He didn't speak for the rest of the ride to the restaurant. But I didn't mind. James was a silent man much of the time, but his eyes spoke of stories that I longed to unravel someday. 

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was impressed. Now I understood why Madeline was such a stickler for manners and etiquette. If we were expected to move unobtrusively in certain circles, we needed to fit in. In every possible way. 

I was in such a good mood, I barely noticed anyone but James. When we took our seats, he reached for my hand as if he was accustomed to touching me intimately and I felt heat pool in my groin. He kissed the back of my hand and I couldn't prevent a gasp from escaping me. 

"You act like you've never been with a man before," he murmured. 

"Really? I mean, I have. Of course, I have." 

"Something tells me that you were usually treated without...shall we say...finesse?" 

I grabbed my glass of wine and drained it in one gulp. I wasn't a novice to sex, but I had never been...romanced. 

"Maybe." 

He took a sip of his wine and smiled. Leaning towards me, he kissed the side of my neck, slowly, like he was savoring the taste of me. I closed my eyes and memorized the feel of his mouth on my bare skin. This was something completely alien to me. But I liked it. No, I _loved_ it. 

"I have a present for you." 

I opened my eyes and noticed the gaily-wrapped gift box in front of me. "For me?" I asked dreamily. 

He nodded, indicating I should unwrap it. 

I pulled it open eagerly, not even stopping to wonder what might be inside. 

Then inexplicably the mood was shattered. 

It was a gun. Lying there, carefully nestled in its cheery red velvet trappings, was a gun of obvious military issue. 

I couldn't speak. He placed my hand on the gun, in effect covering it from view by anyone but us. He chuckled softly and leaned over again, as if to share a confidence. But when his lips caressed my earlobe, the words were all wrong. 

"You see that man over there? Second table by the staircase. Salt-and-pepper hair. Early fifties." 

He didn't wait for a response. He went on, oblivious to the look of consternation that surely must have crossed my face. "Wait till I leave. Then take this gun and shoot him." 

"Go to the men's room. You can escape out the window. I'll wait for you in the limo. Five minutes. No more." 

He didn't have to spell it out for me. I heard the implied threat. If I didn't make it out, I was on my own. As good as dead. 

He got up and buttoned his suit jacket with one hand. Despite my inner turmoil, I couldn't help but admire him. He was the man I loved. For better or for worse. 

The question was, what kind of a man was I? Could I kill someone in cold blood? Until that moment, I never had any reason to ask myself that question. 

I made up my mind. 

I wasn't doing it out of blind obedience. Or even for love. I was doing it because I only knew how to do one thing well: survive. 

* * *

I assembled the gun and slammed the clip home. I must have looked like a crazy man when I stumbled over to the table and confronted the target. Note to self: It was a damn sight easier to kill someone if you called them a target than if you gave them a name. 

I didn't think I could actually pull the trigger. So the kick from the gun took me by surprise. 

People at the surrounding tables screamed and shouted. The target slumped over in his chair and his associates jumped up, clamoring for vengeance. 

I took off for the bathroom, the gun still in my hand. I wrapped it in paper towels and stuffed it deep inside the metal waste container. Then I pulled back the curtains concealing the window. 

They concealed more than that. The window was closed. Permanently. As in bricked up. 

I heard gunfire. They were coming. I had to be going. But where? 

I ran blindly, finding my way into the kitchen, but that didn't take me anywhere. I was running out of time. James was downstairs in the limo. I had maybe a minute. Maybe less. 

He would leave without me, dammit. I knew he would. 

I careened around the corner and practically fell into what would be my salvation. A laundry chute. I tumbled down the chute, face first, pausing only long enough to wonder if I was brave or psychotic. When I reached the lower level, I hit the street running. 

I saw the limo. It was pulling away from the curb. "Wait! Wait!" Okay, this was drawing attention to myself in the worst possible way. This was not appropriate behavior for a field operative. In any situation. But I didn't care. 

I never chose this. It chose me. It wasn't fair to ask me to be good at it, too. 

The limo screeched to a stop. The back door opened, beckoning me. I threw myself into the car, astonished that I was alive. Even more astonished that I was grateful. 

James held out his hand for the gun. I looked at him blankly. "Where's the gun?" 

"I tossed it." 

"Fuck." It was the one and only time I ever heard him curse. "I'll have to come up with an explanation." 

That was when I realized that _he_ was under scrutiny as well. "You don't have to protect me." 

"No, I don't. You passed the test. Congratulations. You are now a Level 1 field operative." 

"Fuck you." 

"You have something to say?" 

"You left me back there. You knew there was a good chance I couldn't get out." 

"We had to know if you could think on your feet. Things go wrong. If you can't improvise, you and everyone else on your team could go down." 

"You let me think this was a--" 

"--date?" James nodded. "If I told you this was a mission, you would have acted differently." 

A single tear trickled down my cheek, but I refused to wipe it away. He wasn't worth it. "Why did you kiss me?" I whispered. 

He paused. "Section tells me what to do, but they don't own me." 

"The Hell they don't." 

"They can't tell me what to feel." 

"You don't _feel_ anything." 

He stared at me for the longest time, but I couldn't look away. "I love you," I whispered. 

He sighed heavily. "I know." 

"You use it against me, like some kind of tool. I thought you cared about me." My lower lip trembled, a sure sign that the tears I was holding back were going to break through my defenses. 

"I do." 

My heart leaped. But it was at best a forlorn hope that he would love me back, for he said, "But I cannot allow you to become my weakness." 

And the pity of it was...I understood that. 

* * *

I threw myself into my work with a vengeance. If I was going to be under constant scrutiny, I was going to give them all something to look at. I became determined to be the best. 

Better than anyone. 

But mostly better than James. 

I passed more tests. I won the reluctant admiration of both Madeline and Operations. But I wasn't happy. 

This wasn't life. It was death, or something close to it. I was living out the sentence I had started in prison. The fact that I was no longer inside its walls was lost on me. 

Then something happened. 

They gave me my own apartment. I never had a home of my own before. I was stunned at the magnitude of this gift. 

Never mind the omnipresent surveillance that I couldn't see. 

This was something I didn't even know I _wanted_ and I was never giving it back. 

James was a cool, polite stranger. He handed me the key and walked away, but not before I saw him glance back over his shoulder at me when he thought I wasn't looking. 

I stared at the bare walls. Suddenly I gave a whoop of joy! These were _my_ fucking walls! I could paint them any color I wanted, even purple, and no one could stop me! I could stay up all night long and listen to Nina Simone! I could go out dancing and no matter how long I stayed out, I had someplace to come back to! 

But more than any of that...I could have _friends_. 

* * *

I knew that Section would eventually call me for my first mission. But for now, my time was my own, and I wasn't going to spend it waiting by the phone. 

I went out...all the time. But that's not where I met him. My first real boyfriend. 

Jack. 

He wasn't that tall. He wasn't that buff. He wasn't that _anything_. He was just _Jack_. Just a guy I met in the grocery store and brought home with me. 

We had coffee. We ate chocolate chip cookies. But mostly we talked. Or I should say, I listened. I couldn't share what my _other_ life was like. But that was okay. I didn't want Jack to know about Section. I wanted him to _like_ me. 

So we sat at the kitchen counter and we did all the normal stuff that people do when they first get together. We checked each other out and we liked what we saw. 

It was only a matter of time before we'd end up in bed. 

I could hardly wait. 

I couldn't forget James, but now I didn't have to think about him 24/7. There was someone else in my life. Someone who treated me like someone important. 

* * *

We went for walks. I made him spaghetti and meatballs. I was starting to feel decidedly domestic. I wanted him. 

But one day, when I came home from grocery shopping, a task that never failed to make me think of Jack now, I realized that I wasn't alone in the apartment. Someone else was there. 

I dropped the bag of groceries and grabbed my gun. Slowly but surely I crept up on my intruder. But when I leaped into the living room, gun cocked, I came face to face with...James. 

"You're back." 

"Yeah," I said warily. I was well-used to his mindfuck games and I had no intention of playing. 

"Had a long talk with your friend...what's his name, Jack?" James smiled, but his blue eyes remained chilly. 

He picked up a CD and examined it closely. 

"Suddenly my musical habits are fascinating and on a need-to-know basis?" I asked sarcastically. 

He put the CD down on the coffee table. "I don't want you to see him again." 

"So who gives a fuck what you don't want? It's my life!" 

"No, it's _our_ life. We own you and everyone in it. With _this_ much effort," James said, indicating a tiny amount by pressing thumb and forefinger together, "we could erase him from _your_ life...permanently." 

"No! Don't do that! I don't want that! Please!" 

"What do you want, Blair?" he asked in that curiously disaffected voice he employed to such great effect. 

"I--" 

"Well?" 

"I--I want you, dammit! You know that!" 

He smiled then. It was the only genuine smile I ever saw cross his face. It softened the harsh angles and planes of his sharply chiseled features. 

Like the predator he so often was, he pounced. He could have used his skills as a Valentine operative on me. I had seen him be more than convincing on several occasions. I would have had a hard time telling the difference between pretense and reality, and he knew that. 

But he didn't. He claimed my mouth with a tenderness and a tentativeness that belied his considerable experience. He wasn't that sure of where he stood with me, and it showed. 

I wrapped my arms around his neck, where I could feel the impatient flutter of his pulse against my fingertips. "Do you think--" I gazed into those pale blue eyes that suddenly seemed hundreds of degrees warmer than they were moments ago. 

"Maybe someday...you could love me back? Just a little?" 

His hands trembled as they framed my face. "I do." 

"I should say goodbye to Jack, huh?" I felt his mouth curve into an unexpected grin as he sought to kiss me again. 

"I knew you had potential the moment I laid eyes on you." 

"Umm...is that anything like falling in love at first sight?" 

He laughed for the first time since we met. "I think so." 

" _Now_ can I show you why I'm wasted as a _field_ op?" I waggled my eyebrows suggestively and indicated the bedroom. 

"Mmm," he said as he kissed my neck. "What makes you think I want to _share_ you?" 

End 

* * *

End L'Homme Blair by Silk: silkn1@att.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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